The Kenan Fellowship at Lincoln Center Institute: Drew Madland ...
I wake up with a forceful inhale and the foreign scent of a new dwelling. Hello Brooklyn! I came in late Monday night and immediately fell asleep. I found a single room living with a nice, forty-something airline worker on the sixth floor next to the freeway in Williamsburg. She sleeps in the living room; I have “the master”. With sleepy eyes I unpack my clothes into the drawers while brushing my teeth, and head out the door for a day on the town. I am a settler returning eastward from Minnesota: my reverse Manifest Destiny. The train rumbles over Broadway, a behemoth in the sky. The block around the station is lined with delis, a pharmacy, and a discount a shoe shop (50% off!) squeezed in between. I decide on Terry’s coffee shop for breakfast. It’s a tasty start to the day. I finish my chicken sandwich, pay, and walk out to the street for a leisurely smoke before embarking to John Street in Vinegar Hill to pick up some of my stuff from storage. He’s closer to me now, and, confused, I take a look at his cigarette. I realize it is actually a little marijuana pipe in the shape of a cigarette. I look in my pack, “the last one” I say to myself (I have resolved to turn the new leaf in NY, after all, to quit the wretched delicious things once and for all in the Big Apple.). “What day? Friday night, Saturday night?” He folds the paper up into his pocket. I finally come to my senses and avoid any further commitment; I tell him to “Give me a call whenever.” He seems satisfied and we part. I rush up the stairs to the station and get through that turnstile. There is a buzz in my head, and a terrible sinking feeling in my stomach. “What just happened?” I wonder, dazed. “Is he gonna call me?” “What am I doing here?” I board the next train. As I coast away some of my anxiety melts, and I start to notice my surroundings again. I see the many faces of the subway and I am re-immersed in the freedom of anonymity, and there is a little solace in that. “I’ll never see him again,” I think. “And if I do, I’ll stand up to him next time, or at least have the gall to just walk away.” One of the projects in which the Kenan Fellows at LCI will be involved this fall is the creation of this blog. This blog will give them an opportunity to share with you their journey and stories as they experience aesthetic education as approached by LCI and as they develop their artistic careers in New York. The six Fellows will be periodically posting their thoughts and reflections on different aspects of their fellowship along with video clips and pictures. Now in its 9th year, the William R. Kenan Jr. Performing Arts Fellowship at Lincoln Center Institute (LCI) seeks to provide emerging artists, graduates of the University of North Carolina School of the Arts (UNCSA), with knowledge of aesthetic education that will prepare them for work as artists in the...
said Philip Soulet, an art gallery owner who keeps a handful of chickens on a plot overlooked by Interstate 10, just north of St. Charles Avenue.
